


Ruptured

by WickedNerdAngel



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry Misha, Angst, Bitter Jensen, Blow Jobs, Character Bleed, Cockles Break-Up Theory, Did I Mention Angst?, Drinking, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Feelings, Frottage, Horrible Memories, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Sad Jensen, So much angst, Worried Misha, argument, fluff at the end, so many feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 14:37:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21210182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedNerdAngel/pseuds/WickedNerdAngel
Summary: But now, Misha was the one that was bestowed with the pick-me-up, and honestly, he hadn't the slightest clue how he was gonna do it. Tonight could be a disaster to end all disasters, because fifteen years of playing a character took its toll, naturally, and Jensen Ackles sometimes had a little too much Dean Winchester in him when it came to matters that affected him on a personal, emotional level.In which a certain scene depicted in episode 3 of season 15 took an incredible toll on our two beloved actors, causing them to lash out at each other, hash it out, an come together like the beautiful idiots they are.





	Ruptured

**Author's Note:**

> I, along with nearly every other DeanCas shipper, was devastated by the scene we watched in 15x03. Gut-wrenching, sob-inducing devastation. Being struck by how well Jensen and Misha pulled of that scene and made it as incredibly raw and gritty, and believable as it was, I felt deeply that it HAD to have affected our guys in a profound way. (And Jensen did mention in an article that a certain scene where "Cas decides he's going away for a while" really got to him, sooo...)
> 
> I dunno whether to tell you guys to get some tissues ready or prepare to duck under my desk from the shoes that are inevitably gonna flying at me, but this one's gonna hurt. I'm sorry... but I'm not sorry. ;-) 
> 
> If you're not familiar with the Cockles Breakup Theory, you can find it here, and man oh man, I'll warn you, it's gut-wrenching in and of itself. It's kinda sorta important in this fic. https://jensenacklesmishacollins.tumblr.com/post/82143546173/i-was-directed-here-to-ask-about-the-cockles
> 
> I adore and appreciate all of you! As always, kudos and comments are my lifeline! (But especially comments!)
> 
> *Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. No disrespect intended to any of the characters depicted in this fic.

Ruptured

By

WickedNerdAngel 

***

_ "Then I see your face _

_ I know I'm finally yours _

_ I find everything I thought I lost before _

_ You call my name _

_ I come to you in pieces _

_ So you can make me whole" _

_ Pieces ~ Red _

***

  
  


** _Jens cell_ **

_ ~Thursday, August 8, 2019~ _

** _Come over. Need you. _ ** _ 11:52 pm _

** _Okay, babe. See you in a minute._ **

***

As soon as Misha's phone alerted and he read the text message, he knew what it was about. His heart ascended to his throat, plummeting into the depths of his stomach just before righting itself, but pounding like a drum against his ribcage. 

He took a few minutes to collect himself, put on the facãde that he was okay, that he was strong and stoic about this now, because Jensen was having his moment. He'd known this moment would come as soon as they'd announced the show's end, but he was mystified as to when it might happen. Jensen Ross Ackles was a bit unpredictable in that way, but now he knew. He knew by the end of the scene they'd finished shooting earlier, that this was gonna stick with the both of them. 

He himself had felt emotionally drained after that particular filming, and Jensen looked like he'd spent the day being stampeded by a herd of pissed-off elephants. 

It was _ fucking _ rough, to say the least. 

Afterwards, Misha had just walked away. He _ had _ to. He'd walked out to the trailers just to get some air and clear his head. The urge to get away from the stifling, oppressive weight of the emotions that were clouding his vision on that set were unimaginably overwhelming. 

Eventually he'd heard footsteps behind him, a quiet, "Mish?" And when he turned around, red-rimmed, grass-green eyes were boring into his. That shit almost brought him to his fucking knees, if he was being honest with himself, but no words were spoken. Jensen had grabbed him by the face, shoved him against one of the trailers, and kissed him breathless. Once the kiss was over, he'd buried his face in Misha's shoulder, Misha gently running his fingers through short, sandy-brown hair. Misha heard him sniffle before pulling away, and the gravity of that one simple sound was earth-shattering. 

Jensen just walked away, though. And Misha let him. They both needed a minute… or a thousand minutes. This hurt more than even he expected, and he was the crybaby that had bawled his eyes out before _ and _ after the announcement video. _ He _ was the one that Jensen had proverbially picked up on several occasions when Misha was feeling down and terrified of his future and morose about the show ending. Jensen had a remarkable way of pulling him through it that consisted of a million little things he did, up to and including the ever-present, ongoing, "We've got a year, babe. We've got this, and I've got you." 

Ten years of his life coming to an end. _ Ten_. But it was _ fifteen _ for Jensen (and of course, Jared, but this situation was also a bit more personal with him and Jensen because it involved moments between their two characters explicitly). They were all hit with moments like these. Jensen was just usually the rock. 

But now, _ Misha _ was the one that was bestowed with the pick-me-up, and honestly, he hadn't the slightest clue how he was gonna do it. Tonight could be a disaster to end all disasters, because fifteen years of playing a character took its toll, naturally, and Jensen Ackles sometimes had a little too much Dean Winchester in him when it came to matters that affected him on a personal, emotional level. 

***

Misha ran his hands through his hair, fingers catching painfully in ever-present tangles, filled his lungs with air, blew out slowly, and knocked on the door of Jensen's apartment. The door opened slowly, just a crack in the frame, and Misha took that as his cue to enter. He was met with Jensen's lean back retreating in the opposite direction as he sidled in, and his heart sank just a little more. It was worse than he thought. 

"Hey," Jensen greeted, voice rough, head turned slightly to the side but his face mostly hidden from view. "Scotch?" 

"Hey," Misha replied. "Yes please… that sounds amazing." He breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Alcohol. Alcohol would dull the ache in his chest, would take the sharp edges off the pain. Yes. Alcohol. Please. 

He took off his jacket - it was the hottest part of the summer, but this time of night, it was only a balmy 60 degrees Fahrenheit in Vancouver - and laid it on the back of the sofa as Jensen clinked glasses in the kitchen. With trepidation, he sat down in front of his discarded jacket and stretched his legs out in front of him, his body giving the illusion of comfort but his insides churning like the Caribbean in the middle of a hurricane. He waited. When Jensen was like this, it was best to let him come to you. 

Minutes later, his green-eyed, freckle-faced lover returned, two stout glasses with two fingers of amber liquid each. Neat. Just the way they liked it… their whiskey, anyway. 

Jensen sat opposite him in the recliner. Not next to him. He didn't immediately come to him, wrap his arms around him, or say much of anything, just sipped his whiskey a couple times and stared at an invisible blemish to the right of Misha's head. He didn't seem to want physical affection at the moment, and that alarmed Misha. Typically when Jensen was feeling down, he needed to be tactile; he needed to physically feel and to touch, but this… this was different. He was closed off and Misha was suddenly acutely aware that _ he _ himself was gonna have to initiate this. 

"Hey," Misha finally said, voice quiet and temperate. His hand sought out the curve of Jensen's bent knee, and he squeezed lightly. "You okay?" 

Jensen didn't move to cover Misha's hand with his own, just sat stone still, gripping his tumbler with both hands as he wrinkled his nose a little and shrugged. "I dunno." 

"You wanna talk about it?" Misha's eyes scanned him as he asked, looking for signs in his body language to indicate whether he did or he didn't. Jensen wasn't giving up anything, though. His body was tense, that much was clear, but whatever was going on in his tumultuous head - besides the obvious: show ending, ambivalence, forlornness - was a mystery. His fingers pressed into that knee just a fraction more.

"I'm sorry," Jensen's head finally lifted as he spoke, still not looking directly at Misha, anguish brightening his eyes to an almost ethereal green.

Befuddled, Misha furrowed his brow and cocked his head to the side, reminiscent of his character. He leaned forward, cautiously needing to be closer to his partner. "For what?" His fingers dug a little deeper.

"Just…" Jensen shook his head. "Afterwards… by the trailers… I couldn't… I didn't… say anything, I'm--"

"Hey," Misha shook his head in response. "Jens, it's okay. You didn't do anything wrong." The younger man dropped his head, lips pursed, brows pensive as Misha continued, "We both had a rough day. That- that scene was hard. I'm okay."

"Yeah, Mish" Jensen raised one hand to run through his hair. "You're okay." There was a hint of sarcasm in his tone that was humorless. It set Misha on edge. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" He didn't mean for it to come out as defensive as it sounded. Genuinely, he was struck dumb by what would make this man think that _ he _ was okay… at all. "Are you upset with me?" 

Jensen's head snapped up in response, a storm of immediate regret brewing in his eyes. "Naw, Mish," he shook his head again. "It's just that… nevermind, it's stupid. I think _ I'm _ just being stupid." His eyes shifted away from Misha's probing gaze. 

"Jensen," Misha sighed, trying desperately and failing to rein in his impatience. He felt an argument coming; he always hated it when Jensen wasn't forthcoming with information, and this seemed entirely too important to just let go. Normally, he'd crack a sarcastic joke, something to make the other man smile, but there was something incredibly fallacious bubbling under the surface of Jensen's words. "What is going on? Other than the obvious?"

"What's _ obvious, _ Misha?" He was back to stone-faced, no trace of emotion in his features, and it threw Misha right on his head. _ Goddamn, _ he was good at that. It was infuriating. 

Misha removed his hand from Jensen's knee, his palm scrubbing over his face before fingers gripped his chin to keep him grounded. "The show ending?" Misha sighed. "We're all starting to feel the finality of it? It's hitting home? I mean, you've been the strongest one, Jens. You've been the rock. It's _ okay _ for you _ not _to be right now." 

Jensen huffed out a humorless laugh and leaned back in the chair, his grip on the tumbler in his right hand noticeably tighter, his left hand curled into a fist. His body language again throwing Misha off. 

"That's not it. Not all of it anyway." His lips pressed together, magnifying the dimples on either side of his mouth, and Misha leaned further toward him. 

This dance they were performing, some kind of sinuous push and pull- Jensen pushing, closing himself off further, Misha pulling, trying to get him to open up- was fucking exhausting already. 

"Then _ what _ is it?" Misha asked. When Jensen didn't reply, he elaborated. "Jensen, you asked me you come over here and I came immediately. I knew you were upset. _ I'm _ upset--" the other man's eyes, which had shifted away, slid back to bore into his in that moment. "But this," he motioned between them, "isn't gonna work tonight if I have to _ pull teeth _ to get you to talk to me. _ Talk to me _. Please." Misha could feel his face heating up, his frustrations getting the best of him, and he softened his expression. "Babe, come on."

Jensen stood up and walked away from him, the fissure in this non-existent conversation widening, and Misha threw himself back against the sofa with a frustrated growl. Finally, Jensen turned around, glowering as he said, "You must not have felt it then." The light in the room reflected off sudden unshed tears in his eyes, making them almost glow, and Misha's heart thudded in his chest. _ What? _Misha opened his mouth to respond, but Jensen beat him to it. "This is stupid, Mish. I shouldn't have asked you to come over here. I'm sorry." There it was again, an apology that made no sense. 

_ What the fuck? _

"Jensen Ackles, I swear to fucking God," Misha stood up as well, clenching his jaw. "I'm here because I _ want _ to be. And what do you mean 'I didn't feel it?' Feel what? In that scene? I felt _ everything. _ Every-fucking-thing." He walked towards his infuriating love. "What are you talking about?" 

Jensen downed the rest of his scotch and sighed, clenching his own jaw before he spoke. "I'm getting some more. You want some?" He turned before Misha could even reply and walked towards the kitchen. Misha fought the urge to scream. He'd barely taken two drinks of his, but he downed it in one gulp anyway, letting the liquid burn down his throat, coiling in his chest like an electric blanket. He forced his feet to follow the other man into the kitchen rather than take him back to the door. 

***

He sat his glass down on the counter and shoved it towards Jensen, silently requesting Jensen add more Johnny Walker to his glass when he finished pouring his own. Jensen obliged. Before he even had the tumbler to his lips for a drink, Jensen had downed his second and was pouring a third. 

"You're not gonna get fucking drunk and not talk to me," Misha announced.

"Aren't I?"

"Jensen."

Jensen didn't reply, only squeezed his eyes shut for a second, as if his short tone physically pained him. Misha tried again. Kid gloves this time. 

"Babe, please." 

Jensen sighed and sat down his tumbler. The clink of glass on marble was deafening. "That scene fucking sucked." 

Misha wasn't sure exactly what he meant but he went with the first available thought that popped in his head. "I thought it went well." 

"That's not what I mean."

"Okay?" Misha raised an eyebrow. "Can you elaborate, please?"

"I don't ever wanna do that again." 

"Well, you may not have to," Misha half-joked. Jensen's expression told him it didn't land. 

"It… didn't seem to affect you that much," Jensen said, his tone quiet, forlorn. "You just… you just walked away." 

"I had to walk away, Jensen, it was in the script," Misha deadpanned. 

Jensen leveled him with a glare. "I mean _ after_, asshole." His eyes shifted away again as he took another drink. "It was like… I dunno, I was looking for you, and I couldn't find you for a while, and… and it was like, it _ felt _ like you were just walking away from me, from _ us." _

Misha's jaw unhinged, his mouth dropping open. How in this godforsaken world _ this _ man could _ ever _ think he was walking away from _ them_, from what they had, wasn't something he could comprehend. "Wow, you are misreading the fuck out of me today." Jensen just looked at him. "That is not… what the _ fuck _, Jensen?"

"I needed you."

"And I needed a minute." 

"After you…" Jensen hesitated for a second, _ "Cas _ … walked out that door, you didn't come back. I--" Misha was quiet while Jensen seemed to gather his thoughts. His brows were furrowed, lips parted slightly and he was doing that tongue thing that Dean does when he's upset. "I felt abandoned. I- I was just _ sitting _ there, on that table and I- I couldn't move…" His eyes darted towards Misha, then away again. "For like five minutes, I just _ sat _ there. It felt too real, man." 

"It was _ supposed _ to feel real, Jens." Misha hoped it didn't come out as insensitive as it did bouncing around in his head, but it was all he could come up with as his heart staccatoed in his chest. Jensen just shook his head. Perplexed, Misha tried again. He was missing something, the important piece of this puzzle that was Jensen's emotions. "If it felt real, it's because we did our job. We're actors, babe. We were acting, right?" It slowly started to hit him. "I didn't abandon you. I wouldn't. Jensen, look at me." Jensen did, his expression almost petulant. "I _ wouldn't." _

"It felt _ real," _was all the other man said. 

"You already said that."

"For _ us_, Misha, goddamn." He set his drink down hard on the counter, motioned between the two of them, and huffed before he spoke again, his voice cracking this time. "I feel like I'm losing you." 

That was it. The rupture in Misha's heart he'd been waiting on all evening. Here it was, straight out of Jensen's mouth. The realization hit him, as a Mack truck would going seventy miles an hour down the interstate, that these feelings they both had during that scene weren't just Dean and Cas's feelings, they were Jensen and Misha's. It obliterated him. It also made him realize that the feelings he was pulling from came from a place much more real than just Castiel's experiences with the eldest Winchester.

"Oh Jen, _ fuck," _he whispered. Walking up to him, he pressed their foreheads together before kissing him hard. "You're never gonna lose me. Never. Understand?" 

Jensen didn't answer right away, only pulled Misha closer to him, kissing him again and again. He held onto Misha like a lifeline before pulling away. 

"I have before," he said quietly. 

Those three words stopped Misha in his tracks, blasting through his ears like a freight train. 

_ No. Not this. Not now. _

"What?" Misha asked, searching Jensen's face, so close but suddenly incredibly far away. Suddenly it was 2011 again, and Misha was reeling. He pushed himself away from Jensen and stumbled back. "What the fuck, Jensen?" All those feelings. All that hurt. All of it. Back again in the forefront of his mind. Jensen just looked at him, sadness the star of this show now. 

"I… I lost you once, Misha, I can't do it again." 

"Are you fucking _ kidding _ me right now, Jensen?” Misha tried to control his voice. He _ tried _ to control his body language, but it was futile. Jensen bringing this all back to the forefront was nothing short of torture. Everything he went through, all of that pain he felt when Jensen decided it was _ too much _ for him over what started out as a picture and a joke came flooding back in a biblical way.

Jensen still didn't speak and Misha felt his resolve slipping further. "That was _ you_, not me! Why, Jensen? _ Why _ would you even bring that up? _ Now?” _ He waited. He watched as Jensen's head, hanging low between his shoulders, lifted. Jensen's cheeks were wet, the tears that had been threatening to form all night finally spilling over. Misha felt like he was bleeding out. 

"I'm sorry, Mish."

_"Don't_ fucking say you're sorry. That part of our lives is _over. _It's been over for a long fucking time, so _why." _Misha felt his chest tighten. His lungs clenched. He couldn't fucking breathe. 

"It doesn't go away, Misha. I think about it every day of my goddamn life." 

"Well maybe that's your problem," Misha replied, his tone acid. _ "You _ wanted that break. _ Not _ me. Don't you forget that."

"I know."

"You know, and yet here you are, bringing it up and projecting that shit right onto me, in true _ Dean Winchester _ style." 

"Misha."

"Fuck this shit," Misha's voice broke. All this nonsense over something the man he loves with his entire fucking heart couldn't let go. Something _ he _ wanted, not Misha. Something that he'd never get over, himself, but that he'd learned to compartmentalize and move the fuck on from. "I'm not gonna stand here and listen to you bring up shit that's been dead and buried for at least seven fucking years now, Jensen." His chest was heaving. He felt the tears in his own eyes but he blinked them away angrily. 

"You weren't the only one devastated by that, Mish," Jensen said. His voice sounded like that of a child; small, meek. Misha lost his proverbial shit. 

"I _ tried _ to talk to you back then, Jensen. I _ tried _ to keep you. _ You. Didn't. Want. Me!" _

"I wanted you. _ Fuck, _ I wanted you so damn bad, it gutted me." 

"You fucking broke my heart then, Jensen, and you're breaking it _ again _ tonight." Misha's entire body was tense. His fists were clenched, jaw set, eyes blazing in Ackles' direction, and he could feel himself pulling away. He didn't even realize he'd moved so far away from Jensen until he noticed him moving towards him. 

"I'm not trying to, Mish." Misha felt Jensen's hand on his arm and, for reasons unbeknownst to him, he snatched it away. Jensen's resulting expression fractured him to his very core. "I'm sorry."

_ "Stop _ saying you're sorry, Jensen!" Misha squared his shoulders, facing his infuriating lover with a set jaw and blazing blue eyes. "I can't go back to that. I can't. It- it was the _ worst _ time in my entire life, and…" he paused to laugh humorlessly at the absurdity of what's become of this night, "that sounds melodramatic as fuck, but it's true. I'm sure Vicki wanted to divorce me over it, I was such a mess." He ventured a glance at Jensen, devastated by what he saw. Red rimmed eyes; green irises glowing in response; single tear streaks on each cheek; lips pressed tightly together but fighting to tremble, and he had to look away again. 

"I'm--" Jensen caught himself before he apologized again. "I love you so much, Misha, please…" he didn't finish what he was pleading for before Misha was speaking again.

"You wanna know what _ I _ was feeling in that scene?" Jensen's face crumpled in anguish. "I was feeling worthless, inadequate, worse than I've ever felt before. I felt unworthy because I feel unworthy of _ you_, Jensen. Of your love. Like I'm not good enough for you--"

"No. Misha, stop."

But Misha didn't stop. "... like I'll _never_ be good enough for you, or worthy of your love." Misha took a shaky breath, his vision blurred by the tears in his own eyes now. His voice quieted as he let some of the most painful memories he had flood back in. "When Cas said, 'you used to trust me;' when he said, 'I've tried to talk to you, over and over, and you don't wanna hear it, you just don't care;' when he said, 'you still blame me…'" Misha took a ragged breath. "It took me back to that time too, Jens. It broke me in fucking half. Why do you think I _had_ to walk away after that?" Jensen's tears were flowing freely now. "I couldn't stop thinking about it, but _I knew_ I was being irrational… and I didn't wanna burden you with all that." Misha clenched his jaw, knowing he was going to regret what was coming next, but he was unable to stop it. "But here _you are_, putting this shit on me. Being _selfish." _

Jensen's looked like he'd been shot, point blank in the heart. "I- I'm always selfish whe- when it comes to you, Mish, I can't fu- I can't fucking help it." It was a mumble, a barely audible whisper, but it sounded through Misha's head like a fog horn.

"Well… I can't do this with you tonight, Jensen." He shook his head, turning his body away from the man his heart belonged to. "Not tonight." 

***

Misha walked as quickly as he could back to the living room, his feet dragging, trying to keep him planted in place in the kitchen, near Jensen, but he fought it. He grabbed his jacket and took three steps towards the door when he felt a strong hand grip his bicep. He froze in place. 

"Please," a desperate, hushed voice said. "Mish… _ please _, don't go. Please. Stay with me. I'm so sorry." 

The avalanche was in full motion now, burying him in mud and debris, Misha clawing and digging his way out of it; it threatened to choke the very life out of him if he even considered walking out that door. 

In one moment, Jensen Ackles did what Dean Winchester couldn't do in years. It made Misha realize that they _ weren't _ their characters. That _ they _were able to move past pain, heartbreak and devastation. So he turned around. It was the easiest decision he'd made all night. He laid his forehead on Jensen's shoulder.

And he sobbed. 

Strong arms circled around him, pulling him in so tight he couldn't breathe, and he didn't want to. He wanted to drown, now, without fighting, in this petulant-at-times, infuriating, incredible, beautiful man. So he let himself. 

He felt lips pressing at his temples, stuttered breaths as the man encircling him fought his own sobs, lips pressing against the shell of his ear, pulling the lobe between them, suckling lightly, and his entire body caught fire, every nerve ending lit up like the fourth of July. Misha lifted his head, peppering open-mouthed kisses all along Jensen's jaw, down the cord of his neck, licking at his Adam's apple, feeling in real time Jensen's body react, his gasps, arms locking even more tightly around him. He scraped his teeth against the barely-there-stubble on Jensen's chin before ascending to his lips, crashing them against his own in a bruising kiss. Soft, pleading moans escaped Jensen's mouth, escaping into Misha's; a cacophony turned symphony filling his body, filling his lungs with air. 

His tongue delved in to taste the hint of whiskey still on his partner's, Jensen greedily taking what Misha gave, and he felt like flying. Each licking into the other's mouth, Jensen finally pulled away, chest laboring with each breath. "I'm sorry Mish, I'm so sorry I brought that up--"

Misha shushed him, uncurled himself from Jensen's arms, and placed a palm on his cheek. "Baby, we're not gonna talk about that anymore. I'm here. With you. I'm not going anywhere." The relief on Jensen's beautiful features tore a hole in Misha's soul. He kissed him again, nudging Jensen with his body to move with him. He stripped Jensen of his t-shirt, tossing it somewhere along the kitchen floor, Jensen responding in kind as they kissed their way to the bedroom, whiskey glasses long forgotten, sitting lonely on the counter. 

They blindly reached the bed. Misha reached down, fumbling with the fly of Jensen’s jeans as plump lips left trails of heat along Misha’s clavicle and chest. He moaned when Jensen laved his nipple, licking and teething at it gently. Long fingers flew to Jensen’s short locks, blunt nails digging into his scalp. He reached again to push the denim fabric down over Jensen’s hips, but was met with hands stopping his own. Instead, Jensen shook his head as jade eyes, darkened by lust, searched ocean blues. He must’ve seen some acquiescence in those oceanic eyes because he reached down himself, discarding Misha’s jeans as Misha had been trying to accomplish with his. 

Jensen watched Misha raptly, kept their eyes locked as he descended Misha’s chest, licking and leaving gentle, tickling kisses as he went. The younger man reached the waistband of Misha’s briefs; hooking his fingers just inside, he slipped them down over toned, sun kissed legs. Misha’s now prominent erection bobbing in midair as Jensen’s eyes continued their stranglehold on Misha’s. He wrapped his large hands around each hip, kissing each side gently, taking extra care of the one Misha had injured, kneading as carefully as he could, and Misha’s heart exploded beneath his ribs. 

Misha could see his own chest heaving out of his periphery, but he couldn’t stop staring at Jensen’s unfairly beautiful face. It was only when Jensen took Misha into his mouth that he closed his eyes, and so did Misha. The older man’s head fell back as a strangled cry slipped from his lips, eyes screwed shut, just feeling. Jensen took him fully into his mouth, almost all the way down to the base, and Misha’s knees nearly buckled. The fingers of his right hand, resting gently on Jensen’s head, involuntarily curled into his hair. If it was painful, Jensen paid no attention. Jensen’s exquisite mouth slid up the shaft, his tongue pressing into the sensitive vein as he went, until he reached the head. His eyes opened again to bore into MIsha’s as he glided his tongue around the head of Misha’s cock before his lips popped off. 

Misha felt the fire churning in his belly, felt his limbs getting heavy, felt his balls tighten, his muscles clench as Jensen licked the precome leaking from the head. _ “Jens,” _ he groaned. Jensen’s eyes glistened in response, a soft moan escaping from the depths of the beautiful man’s chest. “Can’t… stand… anymore,” Misha implored through his gasps; Jensen had shifted his eyes closed again, going to work once more on Misha’s shaft. He reached one hand over the toned mound of Misha’s ass, slipping fingers between the cheeks, and Misha’s hips pistoned without his permission. _ “Fuck, Jens… _ Jensen… baby, I _ can’t _stand anymore.” Jensen popped his lips off Misha’s dick long enough to push him with gentle hands closer to the bed, then stood, stripping himself naked, and laid warm hands on Misha's shoulders, silently urging him to sit. Misha obliged, but Jensen wasn’t satisfied. 

“Lay down, Mish,” he ordered, lips swollen, voice gruff. He suddenly sounded like Dean and that both ignited and pained Misha. But he did as he was ordered, lying supine until Jensen hummed his approval. The younger man started on each leg this time, kissing from the tops of Misha’s feet (which was a rare, yet delightful occurrence), over his shins, licking each knee cap, eliciting a short giggle from Misha, to which Jensen replied with a devilish grin. Finally to his thighs. Teeth grazed the skin on the inside of each of them, followed by sucking kisses and a tongue to soothe the burn. Misha’s forgotten cock responding in kind to each and every nip and lick. He mouthed at Misha’s balls before licking a stripe up his swollen shaft to take the head back between his lips, and the older man’s back arched up off of the bed. 

“J-Jensen, mmph, _ fuck,” _he whined, grappling at Jensen’s head to pull him up. He suddenly needed that mouth on his in the most desperate way. “C’mere, baby, kiss me.”

Jensen wasted no time obeying the order, ghosting his lips up Misha’s torso along the way. He hovered over Misha, staring down at him for an unusual amount of time before dipping his head and nudging Misha’s lips open in the most sensual, devouring kiss Misha had ever experienced with him. His body exploded in tingles as he reached up to run his fingers through Jensen’s hair again and again. “I love you too,” he whispered when Jensen finally pulled away, Jensen’s eyes shining with tears as he took in the words. 

“I need you Mish,” Jensen begged, “I need you so much.”

“I’m here,” Misha replied, searching Jensen’s suddenly melancholy face. His stomach dropped; he didn’t like that Jensen was slipping back into that darkened forest, haunted with painful memories. “Hey, hey, baby…” Misha whispered. “I’m here. What do you need from me?” 

Jensen’s body nearly collapsed onto Misha’s upon taking in the words spoken to him. Misha bit his lip, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as their erections pressed together and their chests rose and fell in sync. Jensen kissed him again, pressing his forehead to Misha’s once he pulled his lips away. “I need you inside me, Mish. I- I need to feel all of you, need you to fill me up. Wanna ride you. I need it _ so fucking bad,” _ his hips ground into Misha’s on the last three words. Misha couldn’t help the explosive moan that escaped him, his head rearing back with the sensation. 

“Okay, Jens, of course,” he finally answered. Jensen’s resulting smile was bright enough to light up the entire Pacific Northwest, as if Misha would ever deny Jensen anything. Misha was so gone on this idiotic man, he barely knew his own name anymore. 

Jensen carefully moved from on top of Misha. He trudged over to the nightstand, digging almost blindly in the barely lit room for the lube, and Misha took a moment to admire his lover’s naked body: long, lean frame, toned muscles along his arms and adorable bowlegs, his profile a glow from the light in the hallway. Misha smiled. Jensen handed the bottle to Misha, kissing him lightly before motioning for Misha to scoot over. Obviously knowing the drill, he climbed onto the bed on all fours, looking at the blue-eyed man in anticipation and want. Misha couldn’t resist those pouty lips again, so he licked at them until Jensen opened, letting him delve his tongue into Jensen’s mouth. He kissed him until he moaned and pulled away. 

“Please, Mish,” was all he said. 

Misha opened him up painstakingly slowly, savoring every gasp, every groan and hiss and moan that escaped the Texan’s mouth, until he was three fingers deep and Jensen was panting. “You ready, babe?” Misha grinned as he said it. 

“Fuck you, Misha, I’ve been ready for fifteen minutes,” Jensen growled. Misha slapped his ass for good measure and moved to lie down as he had before, watching Jensen’s every sinuous move as he straddled him, then leaned down to capture his lips gently this time. “I... “ he licked his own lips, “I love you, Mish. So fucking much.” 

“I love you too, Jens.” Misha felt his voice become thick, swallowed down the lump in his throat as he said the words, and placed his hands on Jensen’s ass to guide him down. Again, they kept eye contact; every inch as Jensen impaled himself felt electric, jolting life into Misha’s body. They both gasped as he bottomed out, Misha reaching up to run his hands along the dips and planes of Jensen’s torso, chest and shoulders. Jensen’s hands, pressed onto Misha’s chest at first, slid up to his jaw, up to his hair, gliding his fingers through Misha’s dark tresses as he began to move. 

It was slow at first. Like lazy waves lapping at a quiet evening shoreline, Misha whispering praise to his lover as Jensen’s breathing hitched and soared. Jensen’s cock bounced between them as they moved, drops of precome dripping onto Misha’s abdomen like a trickling stream. Misha wrapped his long fingers around the shaft, squeezing lightly and Jensen faltered. _ “Fuck, _Mish,” he hissed on his breath, picking up the pace. Misha met him thrust for thrust, and reached up with his free hand to wrap around the back of Jensen’s neck, urging him down to Misha’s waiting lips. 

They kissed, Misha tugging Jensen’s lips between his teeth, one and then the other, eliciting obscene moans from deep within Jensen’s chest. Their motions caused Misha’s hand, trapped between their bodies, fingers still wrapped, to tug and pull on Jensen’s dick. The younger man’s breath became ragged with each thrust, each tug and pull, and Misha again could feel that fire deep in his belly. It coiled and rippled through him in waves as he mouthed at the bolt of Jensen’s jaw, the shell of his ear. 

“Mish…” Jensen gasped, “Mish… _ Misha_, I’m… close.” 

The desperation in Jensen’s tone was all it took for Misha to tip over the edge. The fire ignited inside him, and he groaned long and low into Jensen’s ear, an explosion of brilliant colored lights behind his eyes as he came, spilling into Jensen, his thrusts stuttering with each burst. Jensen continued his ministrations, gasping as he pressed his forehead into Misha’s. He seemed erratic, chaotic, like he was losing control, and Misha whispered soothingly to him. “Jens, it’s okay, baby, I’ve got you. Come. Come for me.” Jensen stilled his movements, keening as he came undone, soaking Misha’s hand and chest. 

***

They fell asleep almost immediately after taking a few moments to clean up, curled around each other, whispering more quiet ‘I love you’s. Misha woke up a few hours later, the clock on the nightstand reading **5:23 AM**, and he listened to Jensen’s quiet, muffled snores for a while, smiling to himself, reflecting on the tumultuous evening turned undeniably beautiful. He was so lucky to have the freckled-skinned man lying next to him. 

Even through the difficult, the _ heartbreaking _ times in their lives, they always found their way back to each other. It was funny to him, poetic in a way, how life often imitated the art they created on set, minus the apocalypse and - you know, monster killing. Although if he reflected enough, he could find and file away all the metaphors the show had for everyday, mundane life and just how much it really did bleed over - no pun intended - into their _ real _ lives. 

But this was real to him; Jensen lying next to him, the warmth of his body inundating him (seriously the man was like a flesh and blood heater… he was gonna have to kick the covers off soon), his breaths steady and soothing, and his heart, a steady drum beat in his chest that lulled Misha even in his darkest times. He curled himself tighter around Jensen, heater or not, and pressed his hand to Jensen’s chest, the sleeping beauty in his arms stirring slightly before his breaths evened out again and the quiet snores started up once more. He let the feel of Jensen’s heartbeat soothe him back into slumber. 

***

Light shone on Misha’s eyelids as he awoke from what felt like a ten hour sleep. He groggily cracked open one eye in what was probably the most ridiculous looking wink ever, but _ fuck_, it was bright in there. he was gonna have to talk to Jensen about getting some black-out curtains. He felt the body next to him begin to stir, and he turned around, tired blue eyes meeting a peaceful, sleeping face, lips slightly parted, long eyelashes fanned out over speckled cheekbones. Misha couldn’t help but lean in to kiss the stunning man now in front of him. 

“Mmm,” Jensen moaned quietly before blinking; eyelids slowing opening to reveal brilliant green, unfocused irises. 

“Hi,” Misha greeted with a smile. 

"Good morning, Sunshine," Jensen replied, voice gruff as he grinned sleepily. The rays of light coming through the window cast an almost ethereal glow on him. _ God, he was fucking stunning. _

"Hello, Dean," Misha replied in his character's voice. Jensen reached up, cradling Misha’s face with both hands, and leaned in to kiss him breathless. 

"Aww, look," Jensen said after he’d pulled way. His smile showing off the unbelievably attractive crinkles around his eyes. "They made up. We don't have to fight anymore.” 

Misha rolled his eyes and chuckled. "If only. Those two are a couple of fucking morons." 

Jensen laughed, a guffaw was more like it, and it set Misha’s heart soaring. Maybe they still had a lot to talk about, maybe not, but moments like these were what he lived for. Jensen’s laugh never ceased to make him grin like the Cheshire Cat who ate the canary, and he hoped, no he _ knew _ that whatever the show threw at them in these last few months, they would be able to get past the old feelings they had to dredge up to make those scenes believable, and they’d be able to _ talk _ about it. He and Jensen may not have been the best at communication through the past 11 years, but he felt in his soul that they were on the right track now. And he was never letting what happened yesterday, happen ever _ ever _ again. 

“Yeah, they are morons,” Jensen replied, the smile still plastered his face. “ Good thing we’re not… anymore.” Misha snorted in response. “Come on, blue-eyed cutie patooty, let’s go get some breakfast.” 

Misha sighed... happily, calmly. “As you wish, green-eyed grasshopper.” 

***

The End… Of the beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so so much for reading! If you enjoyed it (or y'know, wanna yelll at me for those feels), drop me a comment! <3 <3 <3


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